Oh So Lovely Intoxication
by Just Another Broken Child
Summary: It was only supposed to happen once - If that - and now look at you. You Became addicted to him. Sometimes you wonder if it would have been easier if you have stayed with little Ms. Kathleen Davis.


**A/n: **I noticed one thing while traveling through the magical - and exciting - world of fan Fiction; There is no Dallas/ Buck Slash. While you might not even know who the hell Buck is, I have to say that I would be happy to be the first person to do so. This take's place before the book therefore everyone is still very much alive. If Slashes aren't your deal then you shouldn't be reading. In order for me to become a better writer I will need you to point out every little mistake that you can find for me. Thank You.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any part of the, "Outsiders." Everything belong to the talented S.E. Hinton.

_**Chapter One.**_

The first time "It" Happened you swore him up and down that it was one hell of an accident. You didn't mean to take things as far as you did. You even made him promise you that he would never talk about it again with anyone. Then, the accidents started to happen one a month.

Every night you die and every night you are reborn. The feeling of your bodies pressed together is enough too live yet another day- To forget about that cheating broad that left him or the lacking business that was going to have your bar become the banks. You're like any other greaser - You're poor. Even at the age of twenty-five you are still a boy. You still have to have someone come and check on you; You still have to have someone make you dinner; That's why your mom wanted you to get married to Kathleen Davis when you graduated from school. But, you couldn't. You refused. Yeah, she was pretty for a blond and she had quite a future, but you cant marry someone you don't love. Looking back, you regret it.

The accidents starting according one every two weeks and then they came closer together. He was drunk and you know that he does it on purpose for attention. He's only Seventeen and has a track record that requires a car to reach the end. He looks Twenty-Three, but you know better. Yet, for some reason, every Saturday night, you're there to get him so fucked up he needs you to carry him to his room. You don't know why the hell he drinks. He tells you some every now and then, but not enough to make a story out of. He tells you that he hates Sylvia and when she's begging for forgiveness, he wont forgive her. He always does though. He tells you about his dad and about his wacked up and fucked up family. That's it. Nothing more.

You know he's only saying that for attention too. He's still a little kid, some where deep down. He really is. He wont ever admit it. Nope. You know he wont. You can never see him as a little kid running around in diapers.

Tonight's not any different. The gleaming lights are shinning on him. It's Thursday night and here he is drinking away that little inch of life that he has left. He has his wallet on the table - you doubt that his stupid ass if paying - and his mind is already gone. His eyes seem to have this spell in them; something that says, "Kill me now." If you had half of a mind, you would stop giving him the toxin right now; but then again, everyone has their addiction..

You know your one and only shot is about to vanish when he gets up and tries to grab the keys from his back pocket. He can barely stand with out falling over.

You're at his side in less then a minute hauling him up to his feet. He shoves you off of him; that's when you remember one thing that He's Dallas Winston. He doesn't need anyone's help. He lets in a scattered breath before looking up and saying, "She left again. Gone." He uses his sleeve to rub his face.

"Yeah, buddy?" You say, not understanding, "Lets get your ass up stairs 'fore anyone sees you crying." You know he isn't crying over who ever it is. You need a reason to bring him upstairs to your castle on a cloud; The only sane place where you can forget.

He shoots you a glare and nods. "Yee-ahh." He says, trying to look cool; it aren't working. He goes to walk a foot to show you who the boss and he falls and stumbles straight into you.

You sigh. He's only Seventeen and you thank the lord all mighty he aren't a girl. You don't need another fancy little name put on your records. That's another reason why you can never marry Kathleen Davis. She's a girl; you're a guy. It wont work. Even at the age of twelve you knew something was up when you looked at a, "Play Boy," And your little friend didn't rise.

You think back to how stupid and blind you were. Now look at you. You're trying to lay a Seventeen little boy. You push your mind some where else and look over at him.

He's smaller then you; you got a good 3 inches on him as well as a good 60 pounds. If he were to try anything, you'd put him in place.

It's Saturday night and you are already getting ready to prepare what you're going to tell him in the morning. You know that you're going to have to say that you had a couple too. You're going to lie. You're going to have to tell him that you were sorry him, then tell him that he needs to stop drinking. You have it all ready.

You know that tonight will be one of the nights where you die a little inside and then when you climb out his bed, you are reborn.

You only wish that he wasn't so damn drunk this time.


End file.
